Drabble Collection
by QuiaVeritatis
Summary: These are my resposes to my Community Challenges. Most are funny, a couple are scary and the others a tad bit naughty.


These are answers to challenges from my LJ Community F for FanFiction:

Drabble Collection

* * *

Challenge: "All you had to say was 'no'" 

Rated PG-13

Disclaimer: Characters said, "no" when I asked them to belong to me.

Evey rolled her eyes. She had a pair of deuces. V had the perfect poker face. She didn't care by now that he saw her roll her eyes. I'm freezing. I'm sitting here in my panties and bra and nothing else, while he's taken off only his belt. She smiled wickedly thinking about the three-of-a-kind that won that hand. He had won all the others. Now her pair of deuces were the only thing between her and her chair's cold seat.

"All I've got is my panties and bra."

"I see that," he said. "Are you betting or folding?"

"Betting."

"Then I'll toss in a glove."

"I call." She answered.

He lay down Ace high. _Nothing. He was betting that she was bluffing_! "Ha! Deuces!" She cried, showing him.

The glove came off, landed in the pot. _I get to keep my panties for another round_.

This hand she pulled triple threes. She tried not to smile. _Poker face, poker face_. "All in."

"All in? Are you sure, Evey?"

"All in, V. My panties, your panties, everything."

"Very well. I call."

"Trip threes!" she laughed, laying them down.

"Full house," he said, holding them up.

"Oh, Christ."

"Panties and bra, right here." He pointed to the pot. Evey pulled the elastic, slipped out of her bra. Shimmied out of her panties. Tossed them both on the table. Now she was completely naked.

"Now what, smarty-pants. I'm out of the game." She glared at him.

"I don't think so. Time for double or nothing." She heard a low chuckle from under the mask.

"What do I get if I win?" She asked.

"I'll do anything you ask me, or tell you anything you want to know."

"Like Truth or Dare."

"Right." He nodded.

"And if I lose?"

"You do the same for me."

"Deal the cards."

Evey dealt herself nothing, King high. She looked up. V lay down a pair of fives.

"Not again!" She cried.

"Now. Eve. Tell me..."

"No! Please! Do "Dare" Please...I'll do anything!"

He cocked his head and his hair swung against his shoulders. "Very well. If you insist. I want you to stand on that chair, then turn around slowly, and grab your ankles."

"Uh...okay...maybe Truth is better."

"Evey. You aren't supposed to have the choice. You lost fair and square."

Evey felt her face grow hot. "Ask me then." She cringed. Was he going to ask if she loved him? If she has forgiven him for the torture thing? Would he ask her about Gordon? If she likes it that way? Maybe he would finally ask her to go to bed with him. He had been playing pretty hard. He obviously wanted to win. She imagined that supple body pressed against hers, that silky voice in her ear. She felt the blush deepen. It never occurred to her to lie. He would know. She heard him draw in a breath to ask the question. _Here it comes_.

"Evey? Does this doublet make me look fat?"

Evey widened her eyes. Her mouth dropped open. "What? What! Oh my God. Does the doublet...make you look...what?" Evey choked. She coughed and sputtered, rose up from the table and waved her fist in front of the grinning mask. "You son of a bitch! What the Hell do you mean...stripping me down naked with a full house and then asking me...that...Oh...My...God. Make you look...fat? Fat? Bloody Hell, V." She had to stop to take in a breath.

He was laughing at her. "All you had to say was 'no'."

* * *

Drabble Challenge: Pain

Pain

He hears her crying behind the steel door. Her sobs start out loud and angry, but soon diminish to a drained and pathetic keening. Every night he listens. He listens to every howl and every wail and finally, every moan. He listens. Just outside the heavy door he sits, his back stiff against the cold metal, his legs stretched out on the cold floor. He hears her crying behind the door. He forces himself to listen. Every night she calls out for her mother. Every night she calls out for her father.

Every night she mourns and then finally…she sleeps.

Tonight the thrumming of her silence haunts him. Tonight he pulls up his sleeve. Slides a knife from his belt, flips it expertly, and lays the cold steel against his naked arm. He presses it. Harder. _Not nearly enough_. He leans into it. _Yes. Now I feel it_. The knife bites. A thin red ribbon crawls down his arm and pearls on the floor beside him.

Tonight was different. _Tonight she called out for me. _

* * *

Open Mike Night

Rated: PG

**Saturday Night in the Shadow Gallery**

His footsteps echo in the Gallery. He lets her hear the footfalls stop at her door. He touches the handle, hears the soft click. She didn't lock it. It's even ajar.

The lights go out behind him. Inside it is darker. He pushes on the door slowly, feeling the balance on the hinges. No sound. He keeps them well-oiled. Another step, so silent, like a mist rolling in off the sea. But I am not cold like the mist. I am warm. Another step. The edge of the bed touches his knee just above the leather of his boot. He stops. He listens. She is awake. I can hear her breathe.

He reaches out his hand. The glove touches the bedclothes. He cannot tell if they are warm or cold, or if he has touched the sheets that lay upon her slender form, or merely the ends of barren cloth. One hand pulls at the fingers of the other. Soft leather slaps the cold stones at his feet. Another follows. He reaches out again. This time the sheets feel cool to his touch. He leans forward. Warmer now. He feels a rise in the sheet. The sheet is a mount and as he touches its summit it moves. The warmth moves. He uses both hands now, a knee upon the bed to stabilize him. He can feel the soft form that shapes the sheet into the rounded hillock. She is lying on her side. He feels the rise of her hips, the curve of her shoulders. The other knee comes up, the bed makes a sound now, a protest against his weight. The warmth beneath his hands squirms, the breathing catches. He hears her sigh.

"Eve." He whispers her name to hear it himself. He listens for her reply.

"V," she breathes back.

He runs his hands up from her hip to her shoulder until he feels the edge. A finger and a thumb upon the seam and it is pulled back. She pulls her knees up as the warmth beneath the sheet is lost to the air. He replaces that warmth with his own, laying himself down beside her, careful lest he crush her, smoothing her with his hands, feeling her supple flesh, pulling her close…

"Aren't you going to get undressed?" she asks.

"Ah…um…no."

"Your boots are getting dirt in the bed. I can feel it all scratchy by my feet. And your belt is poking me in the tits."

"Sorry, Evey."

"Try it again. Naked this time. Take Two."

**Saturday Night in the Shadow Gallery**

**Take Two**

His footsteps echo in the Gallery. He lets her hear the footfalls stop at her door. He touches the handle, hears the soft click. She didn't lock it. It's even ajar.

The lights go out behind him. Inside it is darker. He pushes on the door slowly, feeling the balance on the hinges. No sound. He keeps them well-oiled. Another step, so silent, like a mist rolling in off the sea. _But I am not cold like the mist...Wait...He shivered. Yes I am. I'm freezing. There's a damned good reason I like to wear three layers and a wig and a hat and a wool cape. It's bloody frigid in here in the winter. For Christ's sake. Bloody Hell_. _Naked be damned_.

"Evey, I'm coming in. Move over. Put on an extra blanket!"

* * *

Challenge: ICE

Rated PG

"V. You're limping."

"Hmmmmm, so I am."

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"I must have taken a bad step in the tunnel. I'll be fine."

"You should let me look at it. Are you bleeding?"

"No. No. It's just a sprain and a bruise."

"Then maybe you should put some ice on it."

"Ice?"

"Yes. Where did you hurt yourself? V? Answer me."

"I'll be fine. Go to bed."

"No. Not until I'm sure you're all right."

"I'll be fine."

"I'm going to get some ice."

"No. That's not necessary. Go to bed."

"Here's the ice. Show me where it hurts. V? Speak up. It's melting all over me."

"Just give it to me, then. I will apply it. Go to bed."

"Let me see where it is. Maybe I didn't bring enough ice."

"You did. Thank you very much. I am much obliged. Go to bed."

"No, damn it. I can see you are in pain. Do you want me to bring you some aspirin?"

"No. The ice is enough. Thank you. Go to bed."

"Is it your ankle?"

"No."

"Your knee?"

"Not my knee. No, I appreciate your concern, but, honestly, I am going to be fine. The ice will be very helpful."

"Is it your hip?"

"No."

"What else could make you limp like that? Uh oh, I see now."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

"It's your ass, isn't it? You fell on your ass."

"Take the ice back."

"It is. You fell on your ass."

"I don't want your damned ice. Go to bed."

"Let me see."

"No!"

"Hey! Quit that! That's cold! Yow!"

* * *

Challenge: Little Pink Dress

Rated PG-13

With cruel loyalty Dennis put a hand on a hanger and slid the rack of dresses down to the the end with a click and a snap. Father Lilliman had earned his loyalty in the most meaningful way. After this little interlude with His Grace's final remittance, Dennis would get his reward. A little boy. The thought made him pause for a moment. Back to work. Time to think of that later, after I have taken care of His Grace.

He knew which one he was looking for. Father Lilliman had said pink.. Today it would be pink. Dennis reached for the pink dress, the crinoline and the flowered top. The one with the frill on the neck. _I remember buying this little number last year_.

He carried it to the clothes tree and hung it there to see if it needed mending. Sometimes the dresses get ripped. His Grace gets annoyed if the dresses aren't perfect, and the Bishop has a terrible temper. Dennis shook his head to clear it of that memory. If things don't go the way the Bishop plans, then all Hell breaks loose afterwards, and Dennis did not want to miss his own interlude with his own little pleasure. One of the choir boys would be finding his way down here after Mass. Again Dennis had to stop and wait for his excitement to die down. He fingered the hem of the dress, looked for stains inside. _Perfect. This dress is perfect_.

A timid knock at the door broke his concentration. _She is here._ Dennis opened the door to admit the remittance. _Ah_. He looked her up and down. "The agency sent you?" He asked her. She was clearly too old.

The young woman nodded, her eyes darting past him, taking in the windows, the closets, the walls and the large door that led to His Grace's room.

"You are older than we asked for. Was there a problem?"

The young woman turned her brown eyes on him. In a little girl's voice she answered, "It was such short notice. I was all they had at the moment. Perhaps you would like to wait until tonight?"

"No, no, there is no time to wait." Dennis sized her up, glanced at the pink dress. _Yes, She may be older, but she is small enough. _Very well. Here is your costume. The shoes are in the closet. What size do you wear?"

"Three"

"Good. Wear the Mary Janes at the end. Stockings are here, the make-up mirror is there if you would please, apply a bit more rouge and His Grace likes to see long eyelashes and plenty of lipstick. Get ready, and I will go alert him that you have arrived"

Dennis closed the door behind the Bishop, put the crucifix on the dresser. He tidied up the mess the new girl had made on the vanity, and hung her street clothes on the chair next to the closet. He heard a thump outside the window, straightened up, puzzled. _We are three floors up. There can't be anything outside the window. Maybe a bird. Or boys throwing stones._ He moved closer, put his hand to the lever that unlocked the leaded glass window. _It is already unlocked, and even cracked open. Strange. It is too chilly out this evening to have the window opened. The new girl must have_…a pair of heavy boots struck him full on the chest. Dennis flew backwards across the room, landed on his back against the far wall. He put a hand to his head, _what? _He had no time to think, for a gloved hand had him by the throat, lifted him to his feet and pressed him against the wall. He could make no sound, draw no breath, and as his vision cleared he saw a glaring white mask and a cruel grin. _The terrorist! _The black glove relaxed just enough to allow Dennis a breath, before closing on him tightly again. The terrorist spoke, his voice a deep purr, quiet but clear, each word distinct, the enunciation clipped and professional.

"Good evening, Dennis. No. You will make no sounds tonight. Tonight you shall be silent in the presence of your Lord." The hand relaxed, Dennis gasped, then the hand closed again. "Take the breath, yes, but you will not speak. 'If that rebellion Came like itself, in base and abject routs, Led on by bloody youth, guarded with rags, And countenanc'd by boys and beggary; I say, if damn'd commotion so appear'd, In his true, native, and most proper shape… base and bloody insurrection…'

The terrorist cocked his head, touched the nose of his mask to Dennis' nose. "I am the insurrection and the life, Dennis. And I am your Death." Dennis's eyes grew wide as the last bit of air struggled to burst from his lungs. He felt faint right before he felt nothing at all.

* * *

Challenge: Kink

Cassie asked us to come up with kink,

So I sat down and started to think:

Our V likes ball gags,

And Creedy: Black Bags

And the Bishop likes girlies in pink

The three men eyed each other warily while they waited for the counselor to enter the room. The metal folding chairs were cold and uncomfortable. Creepy Creedy kept looking at his watch. V annoyed the Bishop by continually sharpening his knives on a tiny whetstone he seemed to always carry with him to Group.

"That bitch is late again," Creedy snarled.

"I hope she wears something besides that dull grey suit," the Bishop grumbled.

"I'm ready for her this time," V purred, lifting the blade and eyeing the edge.

* * *

Challenge: Backrub

Rated PG-13

Evey padded to the sofa after her shower, toweling her hair, trying to keep the other towel from sliding off her breasts. "V?"

He turned when he heard her voice. He muted the telly with the remote. "Yes?"

"I have this terrible crick in my neck. I think it's from helping you wire those circuit boards yesterday."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Yes. Very sorry."

"I was hoping you would, well, perhaps give me a back rub. Maybe it will go away."

"Hmmm."

"Please. I promise to do you a favor in return."

"It seems to me that wiring circuit boards is a favor you have already performed."

"Oh. Yeah. Then you owe me." Evey finished with her towel. She stood there expectantly, holding it draped over her arm.

"Come and sit here." V spread his knees and indicated the space between them with a wave of his glove.

Evey obeyed, planting herself between his knees and shifting on the cushion to get comfortable. She leaned forward to give him access to her back and neck. The towel around her breasts slipped down, but she did not move to retrieve it. She felt the glove gently pick up her damp curls and moved them over her shoulder where they dripped an occasional droplet on her knee.

She waited expectantly for his touch, but it did not come. She squeezed his knee. "V? Any time now would be good for me," she said.

"One moment, Mademoiselle."

She heard the sound of him removing his gloves. A moment later she felt his naked hands on her back, smooth and strong as he began to knead the knots from her shoulders. Her towel slipped completely off as she stretched like a cat, leaning into his touch. He responded to her moans by squeezing harder, pressing his fingers into the muscles of her neck, and using his thumbs to explore the soft areas on either side of her spine. Evey rolled her eyes into her head and sighed. As she relaxed, she found it more and more difficult to remain seated between his legs. Her body rejected her commands to sit and continually attempted to slide like jelly down the edge of the sofa and onto the floor. When he felt her slipping he squeezed his knees together and pinned her between them, keeping her where he wanted her. He had his hands on her neck, now, kneading the muscles in and out, up and down, alternating deep circles of pressure with light strokes on the surface of her skin.

Evey could not suppress her moans. Her groans and sighs were so involuntary they seemed to be coming from someone else. She heard the creaking and cracking of the bones in her neck and the subsequent release of the pent-up pressure. Waves of animal pleasure began to cascade up and down her spine with every stroke of his fingers. He was playing her body like a harp and she responded with low tones of pleasure from deep within her throat. She felt his hands respond to her sounds by clutching her tighter, rubbing her harder, and as he pulled her body backwards against him with both hands on her hips, she could feel something else. Something hard pressed against her back. Something that wasn't there a moment ago.

"Ahhhhh," she breathed. "Don't stop. Don't ever stop."

But he did. She made one small disappointed sound, which has cut off suddenly when he lifted her into has arms as he stood. Evey felt both towels fall away from her, the cool air tumbled over he skin. She shivered, opened her eyes to find her face immediately below the mask, cradled completely naked in his arms. For a fleeting moment Evey wondered what he was going to do next, but all conjecture fled when he spun and strode towards the bedroom. She smiled. She hadn't really had a crick in her neck. The real crick was situated somewhat lower. She squeezed her knees together. _This next massage will be the one I really wanted._

"A backrub was a bad idea, Eve." He said as he passed through the doorway into the darkness of the bedroom. "Now I am going to miss 'Nova'."

"You won't miss it," she teased, reaching up to loop her finger under the elastic strap of his mask. "You won't miss it one bit.

* * *

Challenge: Gordon/Dominic

Rated PG

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd and WB.

Gordon's on the prowl.

_That Dominic's a nice piece of ass_

Gordon thought as he watched the man pass.

But it won't be a cinch

To steal him from Finch:

The Inspector's got balls made of brass.

"Mr. Dietrich. Thank you for seeing us on such short notice. I know that after yesterday's events you and Mr. Dascomb are very busy."

"It is a pleasure, Inspector Finch. I hope I can help with your investigation." Dietrich spoke to Finch but his eyes were on Dominic who sat beside the Inspector taking notes.

Finch continued, "Please tell me where you were when you first learned the terrorist had taken over Stage Three."

"I was in my office, taking tea." Dietrich leaned closer to Dominic, pointed to the notepad. "I spell my name i before e," he said in his most velvet voice. "And perhaps you will need my address as well."

"And when did you leave your office, Mr. Dietrich? Mr. Dietrich? Did you hear me?"

"Oh, sorry, Inspector. What was that again?"

"And when did you leave your office?" Finch repeated, perhaps louder than necessary.

"Oh. Immediately after the terrorist finished his message." Dietrich put a hand on Dominic's arm. "I went to the men's room," he said pointedly. Dominic looked up from his writing, glanced at Finch, looked down at Dietrich's hand on his arm. Said nothing.

Dietrich continued, "I hope you've recovered from the mace and the karate chop, Dominic, I know a good masseuse who can help with your neck and shoulder. In fact, he is coming to my office within the hour. It would be no trouble at all if you would like to stay on a bit."

"That'll do. Mr. Dietrich," snapped Finch. "Thank you for your help." The Inspector pushed his chair back with an angry scrape, stood up, took Dominic by the elbow and steered him toward the door. "I will be giving you a call if I need to ask you any more questions," he said over his shoulder.

Dietrich stood in the doorway, watched them walk away. _That Dominic's a nice piece of ass._

* * *

Challenge: Too much TV's bad for you.

Rated PG-13

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd and WB, though they may no longer recognize them.

Some late nights Evey would wake up hearing strange voices in the Shadow Gallery. She would tiptoe out of her room, but as soon as she cleared the piano the telly would click off and there would be V sitting on the sofa, the remote in his outstretched hand. He would inevitably turn around. "Oh, hello, Evey. Sorry I woke you." She never did get to see what he was watching, he never offered to let her watch with him, and on the occasional night when she insisted, he would dig out some old movie for her and put the other DVD away.

When she asked, he would say, "Just some instructional video," and leave it at that. Of course she assumed it was about building bombs, or mixing noxious chemicals. One night, however, she was able to sneak out of her room fast enough to get a glimpse of a naked bum on the screen before it disappeared with a click.

"Aha!" she cried triumphantly. That's not an instructional video after all!"

"Oh yes, it is." V shot back, "and it's very informative indeed.

"Oh yeah? Then let me see it. Now! Give me the clicker."

"Fine. Come here and sit on the sofa." He patted the cushion at his side.

Evey was shocked. She didn't expect him to give in so quickly and had been planning a delicious argument, and maybe even a wrestling match. Now she was suspicious_. I'm sure this is a trick. There's a whoopee cushion there, or some fake vomit_. She wouldn't let him see she suspected anything. She marched over and flopped beside him looking expectantly at the telly.

He extended the remote and 'click', the telly popped on. Evey's eyes almost popped out. The screen was filled with oiled roiling naked bodies and her ears assaulted with the most horrific soundtrack she had ever heard. She felt his glove grip her knee. The mask leered at her. "I told you it was an instructional video."

Finally! She'd been trying to get into his trousers forever, and all he had needed was an instructional video! If she had known that before, she would have bought him one months ago!

Evey pulled off her nightie with one smooth motion then knocked him back against the cushions. She snatched the remote from his hand, snapped off the telly, and tossed the remote to the floor. She climbed on top of him. "Too much television's bad and you have homework still to do," she said and she reached for his trousers.


End file.
